Passing Infatuation
by iviscrit
Summary: Drabble. "His image refused to leave her mind, and she wondered if this is what her friends meant when they spoke of their passing infatuations." Tom/Minerva if you squint. Please R&R!


Hey y'all. I wrote this at college. There's Tom/Minerva if you squint really really hard. Sorry if there are errors, because I was in a hurry to post and didn't edit. :P

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She didn't know it was possible for the sun to beat down like this. The air seemed to pulsate with an odd sort of rythmn, and it seemed to vibrate off in the distance. To say that it was hot would be a massive understatement.

Her hair, thick and dark, weighed heavily on the back of her neck like a mantle. She welcomed it in the winter, considering herself lucky that she never had any need of a scarf because of her hair. Now, the bottom layers were wet from perspiration and strands clung to her face, flushed and damp from the heat. She felt complaints, shooting soreness slicing across her tibias and arches with every step, each stride a protest against walking. She grew ever more aware of the sound of her shoes on the asphalt, on the sidewalk, on the grass that poked, noticing the patter, scuff, and rustle they made. Her shoes made small disturbances in the air, much like the easily dismissed creases in a dress of pressed brocade; they were inconsequential. Their sounds grew distant in her ears, and she began to relax the tightness in her calves and ankles, walking without purpose in a purposeful manner. Vaguely she recalled a promise to meet friends in the Great Hall, a thought that brought her to halt in the middle of the path.

The air seemed to swell around her, shimmering constantly until her surroundings began to shift and rearrange themselves, yet she felt no disorientation. She turned slowly, feeling curiously giddy, and set off in the opposite direction. Students and teachers alike passed her. Acting on a sudden inspiration she tried to soak up the entire scene- green grass, patches of yellow, new sod, blinding sunlight, heat waves, and conversation. As she walked on she heard snatches of conversation, simultaneous and independent of one another, like so many measures of a thousand different songs. Disjointed bits of dialogue grew clearer as she neared the speakers and fainter as she passed them, and all seemed to be towards something of great importance, from the urgency of the voices- though she didnt know what. She wondered if her own conversations sounded like that to others.

Her walk was long, the length seemingly doubled with the lack of reprieve from the sun. Her arms grew hot under the fiery rays; they seemed to beat upon her arms in the same rythm as the pulsating air. A miasma swam before her eyes. She found herself counting the moments until she reached her destination.

"Hey," a voice called, and she turned, her own arm automatically raised in salute to the speaker.

"Hi," she returned, a smile on her lips as she registered who had spoken. She had seen Tom exactly twice before, once in a chance meeting at enrollment, and once again at the prefects enrollment dinner she had escaped from an hour early. She hadn't noticed him, but he had been first to say 'hello' that time as well. She remembered the slightly one-sided conversation with him about favorite Muggle novels, and his embarrassed confession that he couldn't really claim to be an aficionado after she pressed him with questions that delved into the books' specifics. She hadn't seen him since; instead he had seen her. Did it mean anything? She found herself thinking about the whole thing far too much.

She had reached her friends as she had waved, and they continued on without pause, walking into the building as he left. She answered questions of "Who was that?" simply, and tried to absorb the surroundings as before, letting all conversations in earshot seep into her mind. She couldn't, though. His image refused to leave her mind, and she wondered if this is what her friends meant when they spoke of their passing infatuations.

She glanced over her shoulder, and caught a glimpse of a girl accompanying him on his route. Their fingers interlaced, and their hair intermingled, his hair -dark as Minerva's own- a stark contrast to the girl's blonde waves.

She shrugged and turned around. A passing infatuation indeed. And she relaxed into her environment, absorbing all conversation.

FIN

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A/N: Odd little piece here. I don't really know what to make of it, but I figured it was about time I write another descriptive vignette. It's really been a while. Any feedback is appreciated! :)


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